


Lost Day, 1889

by Stormpulse



Series: Blood and Circumstance [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur's not the best dad but lord does he try, Celebrations, Family Dynamics, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormpulse/pseuds/Stormpulse
Summary: Sometimes the world only feels right when Daddy comes around.
Series: Blood and Circumstance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931080
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	Lost Day, 1889

**Author's Note:**

> a prologue to a story in which Isaac survives. Hardly beta'd.

The afternoon sun shines strong through the whispering pine branches, dancing shadows cast for the boy who plays under their shade. He peeks from behind the thick trunk of a cedar with a stick clutched close to his chest as though precious. His eyes are blue and much too sharp, tracking invisible targets as they dash between the trees and boulders, carefully biding his time before he himself jumps out of hiding with a triumphant yell, brandishing the stick in his small dirty hands, spit flying from his mouth with his impression of gunshots.

The trees are hardly silent, alive with the sound of birdsong and scurrying rodents. The boy's outbursts still has the effect of disturbing the easy peace. There's a flurry of wing beats and shrieking calls as the birds just above him take flight. To his left he can hear the crunch of leaves and the sharp snap of a twig as a larger animal, more likely a deer than not, flees deeper into the thick green wood.

Apparently satisfied that his foes are vanquished, the boy brings his stick close to his mouth, blowing like it's the smoking barrel of a gun, the way he's seen his daddy do, before clumsily tucking it into his frayed overalls. Some ways behind him, a woman calls his name.

"Isaac!"

He turns towards the voice and seems to hesitate, as though loathe to leave his fantastical battlefield for the simple comforts of home. Another call of his name, however, and he begins to trudge the 10 feet out towards Aunt Maggie's house, the marigold yellow slats like a beacon against the verdant greens and browns of the wild.

Aunt Maggie stands on the back porch, arms crossed and wearing a harried expression. "There you are," she chides when he finally comes into view. "What I tell you about goin' in them woods?"

Isaac walks a little bit straighter, puffs his tiny chest out a bit as he walks up the steps. "You said if a bear don't get me a rattler would, but I ain't afraid of neither, Aunt Maggie!"

Aunt Maggie just shakes her head, loose gray hair swaying with the movement as she suppresses a fond smile. "Lucky you're too small to be worth the trouble," she says, reaching down to ruffle the boy's hair when he gets close enough. "You look like hell, boy. How am I supposed to send you home looking like that? Your momma will be here any minute. Get on inside."

Nodding with a meek "Yes'm," he slinks past Aunt Maggie's skirts towards the open back door, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Aunt Maggie leans over to pull the twig out of his overalls, barely casting it a glance before tossing it over her shoulder.

"Thought I told you to leave your weapons where you found 'em, Soldier."

Isaac flushes, mumbling out another "Yes'm" before retreating into the shadows of the house, immediately seeking out the boar-hide rug where little wooden horses are scattered on the floor. Aunt Maggie refuses to give him a moment's peace, and she's in the process of scrubbing his cheeks raw with a damp washcloth when there's a light rapping at the front door.

"Mama!" he cries out excitedly, wriggling his way out of Aunt Maggie's claws and leaving the toys abandoned on the floor despite her insistence that he pick them up or so help her God. He bounds towards the door, swinging it open before Aunt Maggie can even right herself, revealing the kind, smiling face of his mother. He barrels into her skirt, earning the faintest little _oomph_ from momma as he wraps herself around her legs like a particularly clingy species of kudzu. She smells like fresh bread and warm stew, the kind of food he never gets at home.

"Missed you too, blueberry," she greets softly with a smile in her voice as her hands come to rest on his shoulders. "The boy didn't give you too much trouble, I hope."

Isaac can't see Aunt Maggie. Can't see anything from where his face is buried in momma's skirt, but he can hear the dismissive wave in Aunt Maggie's voice as she says "Only the usual. He needs to put these damn landmines up before I step on 'em."

With the kind of gentleness only momma can muster, she pries Isaac off her legs, kneeling so she's eye level with her boy. "Go on and pick up your mess," she says, ruffling his hair and smiling at the small laugh it brings out of him. "Thought I was raising a boy, not a pig."

And so Isaac goes back over to the rug, collecting and replacing his herd of wooden miniatures in the woven basket by the bookshelf, only half paying attention to the brief conversation between Momma and Aunt Maggie. He walks back over to Momma when he's done, still standing in the open doorway as she gestures animatedly, telling some story Aunt Maggie hasn't heard before if her guffaws are anything to go by. It takes them both a moment to notice Isaac's return, and when they do Momma just gathers him by his side as Aunt Maggie ushers them out.

"Thanks again, Mags!" Momma calls with a wave as they make their way down the steps.

"See you tomorrow, Aunt Maggie," Isaac says, not because he's particularly looking forward to it but because momma wants him to be polite.

"You two take care now," Aunt Maggie says, watching them from the porch until they're out of sight.

They make their way back, hand warm in momma's and the western sun shining on his face. Home is on the other side of the sleepy shipping town built up on the shore of Grand Lake, the saloon momma works at being a midpoint between home and Aunt Maggie's. Passing storefronts and businesses, their feet kicking up dry yellow dust on the unpaved road. Isaac admires all the shiny baubles in the passing windows, the horses tied to hitching posts out front.

There's a man sitting on their front porch step when they finally round the corner and momma's house pops into view, a palomino mare that could only be his hitched to the post out front. He's got his head tucked into his chest, the brim of a worn gambler’s hat hiding most of his face. There’s an arrangement of wildflowers laid across his lap, hardly a bouquet but tied together with a fine red ribbon regardless. The man must've fallen asleep; he doesn’t stir at their approach and jumps as though startled when Isaac, suddenly recognizing him, calls out, dropping his mother's hand as he runs the rest of the way up the dusty road as fast as his short legs will carry him. The man barely has time to move the flowers out of his lap before the boy clambers into it, throwing his arms around the man's neck and holding there like a vice.

"You was gone a while, daddy," he mumbles into the man's neck. His skin is warm. He smells like sweat and horses and something slightly acrid, just like Isaac remembers.

"I know, son," Daddy mumbles back, standing with a quiet grunt from the weight of the boy clinging to his front. "I'm sorry. Got caught up on the road."

Momma stands besides them now, arms held out in a silent offer to take the boy. Daddy shifts his weight as though about to pass him off, and Isaac just clings tighter for it.

"Arthur," Momma greets him breezily.

"'Liza," Daddy returns with a nod of his head. "Glad to see you and the boy looking well."

Silence stretches between them just long enough to become awkward before daddy suddenly remembers the flowers. He shifts the boy's weight in his arms to rest on his hip before stooping to pick them up. "Got these for you,"

Momma stares coldly at the offered pinks and blues for a moment before some of the ice in her gaze seems to melt. "Hope it's not all you've brought," she says as she accepts the gift with a wan smile.

"'Course not," comes Daddy's relieved reply, rumbling in Isaac's head from where it rests on Daddy's chest. "Brought something special actually, on account of today being a very special day. I think." He reaches up sheepishly to adjust his hat. "Not too sure of the date today, actually."

"Thirty-first of August," Momma supplies helpfully and with barely hidden amusement.

Daddy shifts his weight again and with a bit of effort peels Isaac off to set him down in spite of his protests. "Well then, I guess that makes today your birthday," he says to Isaac's awestruck smile. "What's it, five?"

Isaac nods and watches daddy kneel to eye level, pulling at the shoulder strap of his satchel. He pulls from it a book, new with a rich red covering and gold lettering. Isaac stares at the offered gift warily, suddenly keenly aware of the grime covering his hands.

"New things ain't meant to stay new," Daddy says gently, as if reading his mind.

"I ain't learned my letters yet…" Isaac mumbles, looking up to Momma as though she would offer an escape.

"I know," Daddy says, "Was thinkin' I could teach you. What I know at least. Can barely read myself, " he finishes with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Isaac gently takes the book from Daddy's worn hands and runs a finger over the lettering on the spine. "What's this say?"

"'Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson,'" Daddy says, "Old friend of mine has a copy. Bit too flowery for my understanding, but you're a smart kid."

Momma gestures for the book herself, and flips through it when Isaac passes it over. "How long you stayin' then?" she asks Daddy.

"Couple'a weeks, maybe a month, if you'll have me," Daddy says, "Boys are camped on the other side of the Colorado for the foreseeable future. Hardly a day's ride."

Momma considers Daddy for a moment, then passes the book back to Isaac. "Stay as long as you want, but stay out of trouble, y'hear?" she shrugs, turning for the door, "Lord only knows when we'll see you again. Come on, I'll get dinner started. You can sleep on the couch."

"Hospitable as ever, 'Liza, thank you," Daddy says sincerely, following the both of them inside. "Now, Isaac, about them letters…"

~*~

It's well past late, and Isaac can't sleep, head full as it is of sea-shanties and one-legged seafaring men. Daddy taught him a little bit of letters in between mouthfuls of food, much to Momma's chagrin about table manners. After dinner they took their lesson to the hearth, Daddy pointing out letters and the sounds they made while Momma tried not to look too interested as she cleaned up. When Isaac's jaw started popping with the force of his yawns, Daddy simply picked him up and hefted him off to his room. He tucked Isaac into bed and read him the first couple chapters before extinguishing the lamp and leaving to settle on the couch for the night.

He can still hear Daddy's voice in his head, pitched up and down in strange accents as he read the story, booming with laughter. _Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of Rum!_

Isaac's evening drowsiness has long since left him. He stares resolutely at the moon hanging in the sky from his bedroom window. Beyond his four walls all he can hear are the crickets, the coyotes, and the wind singing softly through the trees. He wonders what the ocean sounds like. Daddy's probably been there. Daddy probably knows.

Deciding that it can't wait until morning, Isaac pulls on his blanket and lightly steps out of bed, dragging it with him. The floorboards don't creak under his slight weight, but the door does when he opens it. His socks muffle his footsteps as he pads into the other room where Daddy sleeps on the couch, snoring softly under the hat covering his face.

"Daddy," he whispers once, then again when Daddy doesn't stir, giving his shoulder a little nudge.

"Mm, whatsit?" Daddy mumbles blearily, caught mid-snore. He reaches a blind hand to push the hat out of his face. It falls to the floor and Isaac picks it up, offering it back while Daddy's rubs at his face.

"Have you ever been on a boat? Out on the ocean?"

"Not on the ocean," Daddy mumbles after a moment, "Why?"

"What's it sound like?"

Daddy considers for a few long moments, struggling to find words while still half asleep. "Like rain," He decides, "Or really strong wind."

He picks his hat out of Isaac's hands and plops it back over his face, hoping that with Isaac's question answered he could go back to sleep.

Isaac has another request but hesitates for just a moment before trying again. "Daddy?"

" _What_ , boy?"

"I can't sleep," Isaac says plaintively.

"Go bother your momma, then," Daddy grumbles.

A couple of minutes tick by silently, Isaac rooted to the floor and Daddy breathing too shallow to have gone back to sleep. Finally, Daddy pushes his hat up just a little to peek at Isaac still standing there.

"Oh hell," he sighs in a mix of fondness and defeat, "Fine, fine… Come on then."

He shifts on the couch, rolling to lay on his side instead of his back, and gestures to the empty space beside him. Isaac flashes a toothy grin and accidentally knees Daddy in the gut as he climbs up eagerly. It takes a moment for them to settle, Isaac hanging half off the couch curled against Daddy's broad chest, and Daddy's arm slung over Isaac's little body.

He feels cocooned in warmth, his blanket tucked under his chin and Daddy's heartbeat drumming steady against his back. He feels safe. Safer than he's ever known, even in Momma's arms.

Later on, Daddy will hit the road again like he always does. Momma will keep working at her restaurant and Aunt Maggie will keep chasing him around her yard. But for right now, Daddy is here, he is strong and he is warm.

Isaac falls asleep, dreaming of rain and heavy wind.


End file.
